


The Bag End

by Jimiel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Altered Hobbits, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aqua!Hobbits, Gen, Naked Hobbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimiel/pseuds/Jimiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hundred years after hobbits settled into the Shire, greedy humans conspired to take over the fertile land. The very night they learned the news, the hobbits vanished and were not seen again for eleven hundred years. During that time, hobbits were forever changed from what they were originally meant to be. But when it comes time for a certain king to attempt to reclaim his homeland, those changes are exactly what is needed to keep their mission secret. To keep them safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Departure

The race of small folk, their name now translated to Hobbits in the common tongue of Westron, had been wandering for a hundred years. They had once occupied a land in what was now northern Rohan until circumstances necessitated a mass relocation. The entire remaining population split into three even sized groups and began what would later in their history be known as The Wandering Days. It should be noted that The Wandering Days took far more than just a few days. The actually length of time was measured in at least a century. The reason for this is that the hobbits moved to a place, settled down, discovered the land was not suited to their needs, and so packed up to move along once more like the migration of a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Though the hobbits had split into three groups, inevitably they managed to meet up again in their seemingly undirected steps. And the place the race gathered once more was a green land of rolling hills that beckoned to the gentle, small beings. It became known as The Shire and the hobbits flourished in the bountiful land. And the land, so long untended, flourished under the loving hands of the hobbits.

So much did the land flourish that in three generations the big folk, the greedy race of Man started to notice. And the way they noticed was not at all kindly. It didn’t take long at all for the Men to gather a force to take over the lush country from the peaceful hobbits and, after the first hobbit youths reported back that an army of Men was amassing and speaking of taking over the Shire, the hobbits acted.

But it was not with hostility that the hobbits acted. The Wandering Days were still fresh in the memories of the eldest hobbits. And thus the entire race once more gathered their most precious belongings, their families, food supplies and seeds, and left the Shire in the dead of night. The very next day, the shire empty but for scraps of wood around hollowed out hills, the Men took over the green land. But never again did it flourish as it had under the hands of the small folk.

As for the hobbits, they easily took to their wandering once more. It wasn’t until during a temporary stop on a broad beach just west of the southern half of the Blue Mountains, for several hobbit wives would soon be giving birth, that the race of small people would take a step that would change them forever. As the heads of the various families talked over what they would do when ready to move on, they also watched over some of the youngsters whose families were busy with the soon-to-be new mothers. And it was one of these youngsters, the heir of a family that had taken to calling themselves Tooks, which ignited the spark of this change.

“Lookie at me! Lookie! Look!”

At the lad’s excited yelling, heads swiveled around to stare in amazement as the lad was carried aboard the back of what looked like a giant monster, sluggishly moving toward the sea. The lad’s mother ran over, scooping him off the beast… a beast that ignored them all in its single-minded desire to return to the ocean. Now hobbits are curious creatures and since the beast, while strange looking, showed no signs of aggression, they observed it. One hobbit of Harfoot descent left to follow the strange tracks back to their origin while one of the family heads that still used the name Stoor, braved going into the ocean to watch as the creature finally reached the water and disappeared beneath the surface.

When the Harfoot returned with a report of a nest of eggs in the dirt at the end of the tracks a few Hobbits went back to determine the edibility of said eggs. Eventually though the Stoor emerged from the ocean with their own report.

“Swam right off, it did. Graceful as a bird in the water for all that it was slow on land. T’was a right pretty sight, too. Shame we can’t do the same. No land to drive us from that way.”

And his words were the breeze; fanning the spark the initial sight had given for suddenly the hobbits were abuzz with the possibilities. Discussions were made and ideas of making boats to leave and search out a new land were given. The question of where to find wood was no problem, the face of the mountains behind them were covered with trees. The flame was truly lit then and the blaze roared for two years as the face of the mountain became bare as the hobbits worked.

Those hobbits with the knowledge patiently taught every other hobbit how to overcome their fear of water and swim. The best Hobbit Hole builders worked on designs based off of their Holes, small fishing boats, and the big ships they had seen off the coasts in the large cities of men during the first set of Wandering Days. The youngsters spent time running all over the mountains and nearby beaches to gather food while tweens worked a small farm on the larger nearby beaches to keep their people alive in this time of transition.

Designs were tested and perfected, lads and lasses learned to use their small bodies in new ways of swimming and working, imaginative fauntlings worked out new ways to grow food and the newly swimming teens learned what of the water plants they found were edible, and soon the first vessel was completed. It took a while, but a smart young lass going by the family name of Baggins came up with the idea for how to get it into the water from the beach. It was long and wide and tall, sinking heavily into the water as the fifty hobbits aboard it nervously waited to see if their famous waterproof woodworking, perfected for smials made in rainy areas, would hold.

From the shore, the remaining hobbits waited nervously, watching the strange wooden vessel. In honor of the beast that had spawned the idea, it looked like a giant wooden version of the creature. A creature the youngsters had taken to calling a turtle. From the shore they could see the large arching, sloping back of the wooden turtle and the ‘head’ atop the long, thick neck just barely above the water. As they watched, the head sank deeper, pulling out of sight and excited murmurings started to be heard. For the head was designed to pull back and extend higher out of the water as needed. And then the water churned behind and the sloping back moved through the water causing the hobbits to cheer.

They watched the giant wooden turtle ‘swim’ in a sloppy circle through the water. The turtle ship, after making three laps around the bay of the cove they had been calling their temporary home, began the return trip to the beach as the hobbits inside worked their stronger leg muscles to push and pull the clever pulleys they designed to move the hind flippers and propel the vessel forward. Other hobbits inside tugged and positioned and locked the giant oars that controlled the front flippers that steered the vessel while others still just milled around on one of the three levels inside the turtle ship to add weight to the testing. At the front were two hobbits sitting inside the head and watching through the large glass eyes of the turtle ship’s head to direct the group and call a stop when it was time.

As the turtle ship coasted to a stop against the sand of the beach, the hobbits inside moved to the top level where they unlatched the low ‘roof’ before the hobbits ashore watched the wooden turtle’s back split down the middle and spring open, the sides swinging out on their lashings and revealing their companions as the cheering reached deafening volumes.

With a working design and supplies piled on the beach, the hobbits went to work immediately… after a suitable celebration party, of course. It took two more months of nonstop work before the hobbits loaded their families and possessions onto the four massive turtle ships they had constructed and sailed away from the other races.

It would be almost eleven hundred years before any other race on Middle-Earth laid eyes on one from the race of hobbits again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when my brain doesn't want to work on stories I've already started... I'm almost done with chapter two of this one and it will go up as soon as I read over it.


	2. Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will probably note that I consistently refer to Gandalf as Mithrandir in this chapter. This is intentional as the hobbits don't really remember him and it is elves that reintroduce the hobbits to the Maiar. Since the elves call him Mithrandir, its natural to assume that's what these hobbits would begin to call him. When the dwarves come along he'll be called Gandalf by them and Mithrandir by the hobbits. My dwarves won't be slipping up and calling him Tharkûn. Nor will I bother using any other Khuzdul, neo or otherwise, I'm just too lazy for that. :D

The year was 2848 of the Third Age when the elves within the Grey Havens laid eyes on Hobbits once more. The troop of hobbits had come, nearly bouncing with excitement, from the bare beaches west of the Havens, along the northern coast of the Gulf of Lhûn. There were perhaps thirty of the little people in the troop and they were met with exclamations of delight from the elves. Delight and astonishment, for the race of hobbits had changed during the course of eleven hundred years.

The new hobbits had dark brown skin from long exposure to the sun. Their hair was still a mess of curls, but most often in shades ranging from light brown to near white, also from the sun. Their clothing was of an older fashion not seen in centuries and most shifted uncomfortably in the material. But what startled the elves the most was the way the hobbits had changed physically. And the tale the hobbits told of how this change came to be caused the elves to marvel…

While it was a known fact that hobbits tended to vary which of the Valar they would send a prayer to, depending on the situation, most of their prayers before they vanished had gone to Vána the ever-young, keeper of the golden garden. But the story that the hobbits told of how they had left the once Shire and fled to the sea told of how that had changed. Certainly they still prayed to Vána, they loved their gardens just as much as always, but now they equally shared the bulk of their prayers with Ulmo, king of the sea. And, over time, Ulmo had drawn himself from the depths of the ocean and answered their prayers.

It was a well-known fact in Middle-Earth, at least among those honest with themselves, that one cannot spend more than a month in the presence of a hobbit without coming to love that hobbit. And poor Ulmo had spent hundreds of years with the entire race giving him thanks for fair weather and every gift the sea gave them. It was entirely acceptable, even to the ears of the listening elves, for him to be drawn from his solitude by the gentle race.

The hobbits said that when Ulmo finally responded to their prayers, he led them to a large island filled with plants they had never seen and allowed them to build a city on land once more, but they still lived a large portion of their lives on the ocean, some hobbits never stepping on dry land in their entire lives. And to all hobbits, Ulmo gave gifts so that they might come to his palace and give proper thanks for all he had done for them.

Ulmo’s gifts to the hobbits had been slowly given, the Valar had explained this was because he had to change the song their race had been given when they were created and he had to change it carefully, so as not to destroy them. And over time they had changed indeed. And the gifts he gave them astonished the elves. For Ulmo had made it so that hobbits could breathe the very water as if it were air. They did not grow cold in the sea and were not bothered by the way it pressed into them the deeper they swam, they could not see as well in the water, but now like some creatures of the deep, they could make clicks and squeals that bounced back through the water to their even more sensitive ears and gave them a picture of what the world looked like. Their hands and their over sized feet were webbed much like any other creature that spent time in both the water and on land. Needless to say, the elves were astounded.

And even more astounding was the things the hobbits had brought back from their island and smaller islands near their home to trade… And the things they had discovered in the deep were startling as well. All at once Círdan, Lord of the Havens, began negotiating trade agreements, for he had developed an instant fondness for what the hobbits called a pine fruit, for it reminded them of the pine cones in their story books. And this, along with the arrival of a trade delegation from one of the kingdoms of men, reminded the elves of another aspect of the hobbits story.

Hobbits no longer remembered things about the land they were born from, aside from tales in history books. And their version of Westron was severely outdated, as they could not speak directly with the men, whose language had shifted over the centuries. And so the elves of the havens, ever ones to love teaching, set about restoring lost knowledge to the hobbits and teaching them how Middle-Earth had changed so they could take this knowledge back to their people.

Somehow it never occurred to the elves to inform the men about how Ulmo had changed the hobbits so that they could actually swim down to his palace…

Sometime during the course of the next month, while the hobbits would occasional switch out with several others that were waiting on their ship, a ship the elves had not been able to find, Mithrandir arrived. It didn’t take long for him to strike up fast friendships with the hobbits, and more than once he was seen with tears of joy in his eyes. Mithrandir’s long held affection for hobbits and heartbreak at their disappearance was widely known among the elves that, to an extent, shared his joy in their return.

Somehow or another Mithrandir wheedled his way onto the hobbit ship when they finally departed and, when he returned with the one of the yearly trade envoys four years later it was with tales of the marvelous culture the hobbits had developed in their new homeland. Of course, the biggest secret of the hobbits he held close to his heart and shared many a wise wink with the bright smiles of the little people. Especially one hobbit in particular that had become a close friend of the Maiar, Gerontius Took, a young father with aspirations of having the largest hobbit family in memory. Gerontius was also the captain of the largest of the trade ships that sailed to the Gray Havens, named The Tuckborough.

For many long years Mithrandir would make regular trips with the hobbits to their homeland and, over time, the occasional elf like Círdan and Glorfindel would visit as well. Then one day Mithrandir departed the Grey Havens in the company of a single hobbit… And he was not heading toward the sea. The hobbit was a young lass named Belladonna and she wanted to see what was, for a short time, known as the Shire and meet other people than the Havens elves or occasional human trader.

Thus began the infamous adventures of Mithrandir and Belladonna Took, eldest daughter of Gerontius Took. Adventures that lasted from the time she was old enough to put her foot down until a couple of years after the birth of her only son, when she had her last adventure to carry an evil ring and throw it into a mountain of fire. Belladonna was ill when Mithrandir carried her to Rivendell’s infamous house of healing and when she was stable enough to move on he carried her back to her ship, The Hobbiton, in a hidden grotto west of the Grey Havens where her husband and young son were waiting.

Less than five years later, Mithrandir was attending Belladonna’s funeral. She had never fully recovered from the journey to destroy the ring. Belladonna’s husband, Bungo, politely informed Mithrandir that he couldn’t help but blame the Maiar for the loss of his wife and requested that Mithrandir stay away from the island until it hurt less to think of what the Maiar had cost his family. Unable to think of a proper argument, Mithrandir agreed. It turned out it would be almost forty years before Mithrandir returned to the island, and by then, Bungo himself would have raised his son and as best he could until the boy was nearly of age before fading to follow his wife into the golden sea garden.

It wasn’t until times changed, and the need to face a dragon arose, that Mithrandir’s thoughts once more turned to the hobbits and, with a troop of thirteen dwarves following in his wake, he led them to the Grey Havens where he climbed their light house and flickered the shutter on the light in a pattern that would call to any hobbit vessel within sight of the havens to send word that he needed to speak to what he knew was the current captain of The Hobbiton… one Bilbo Baggins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already working on chapter three, gotta keep going while the story's bugging me...


	3. Meeting Bilbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice in this chapter and in future chapters that I will seemingly randomly change between using dwarfs versus dwarves for the plural of dwarf. The reasoning for this change is purely phonetics. Meaning every single time I use the plural form I say it aloud and use the spelling/pronunciation that sounds better to my ears. :)

The Maiar commonly known as Gandalf was seriously considering the major error in judgment he had made when bringing a company of dwarves with him into the elfin settlement known as the Grey Havens. He should have come early on his own and brought the dwarves in at the last moment after the hobbit he required had arrived. Hindsight truly was with perfect vision, he lamented as he brought the head of his staff down upon the hard head of a young dwarf just in time to prevent the dwarf from starting a fight in the tavern attached to the inn in which they had been waiting for three weeks.

The leader of his dwarven companions, one Thorin II Oakenshield, was opening his mouth; no doubt to once more voice his complaints over being in the elfin port city, when Gandalf rudely interrupted.

“Yes, for the one hundred and forty-third time… We could wait here another two months and it would still be faster in the long run than if we rode east this very night!”

Thorin, his complaint nipped in the bud, crossed his arms and went back to scowling thunderously at the elfin serving maid that wove gracefully through the rowdy dwarfs on her way to a table with a group of men in the back of the tavern. The maid, though this had confused her at first, had quickly learned that the dwarf leader tended toward prejudice and now ignored his glares, which would shift to the another elf should one happen to move closer than her within his line of sight.

Taking a deep breath, it soon became obvious that Thorin was winding himself up for some other bit of vitriol when the tavern door opened with a bang and a small, dark creature came running in on bare feet. The creature, which seemed to be male, looked around before alighting on Gandalf. A beaming smile filled with gleaming white teeth in his brown face seemed to cause all the startled occupants to begin forming their own smiles. And then he opened that mouth and the first word, an elfish word, caused the dwarves to shut down into disgruntled expressions.

“Mithrandir!” The small person, a wandering elf child no doubt, ran over and leaped into the waiting arms of the grey wizard. What followed was a rapid discussion in what seemed to be Westron, but no one save the wizard and elves seemed to understand what was being said.

This, naturally, did not endear the child to Thorin. Though he was at least glad it did not sound like the flowing elfish language. In some ways it reminded him more of the archaic form of Khuzdul some dwarves still used.

“Gandalf…”

Thorin was not pleased when it took three more times before Gandalf finally turned his attention to the dwarf. “Oh yes, Thorin… Meet Captain Bilbo Baggins.”

“Pleased to meet you.” The child-like person said with a lilting accent, and Thorin was having trouble with accepting that this beardless seeming-youth was a captain of anything, gave a polite bow and a bright smile.

The dwarf gave a nod of his head in response. “Thorin Oakenshield. And this is my Company.” He gestured toward the other dwarves who nodded or bowed politely to the creature.

Gandalf pulled an empty chair up to the table he was sharing with Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and Dori. “Please, Bilbo. Join us so we might discuss why I have requested your presence.”

Bilbo called an order for beer from the serving maid as he climbed up onto the too tall chair. It wasn’t until he was forced to sit on his heels to see over the edge of the table that the dwarves noticed he had abnormally large and furry feet that were bare of any covering and took a closer look at the small person that Gandalf called Captain. He was short, perhaps the same height as the shortest dwarf in the company, and thinner than any dwarf. He seemed soft somehow, though he had defined muscles on his bare and lightly furred calves and the part of his forearms visible from the short sleeves that came to just below his elbows. He was simply attired, wearing a pair of loose, brown short pants held up by bracers over the ivory colored, short-sleeved button-up shirt. His skin was darker than any the dwarves had seen before. Nothing about his comportment indicated Captain to any of the dwarves present.

Gandalf cleared his throat and took a drink of his wine before speaking. “Some of you dwarfs might recall that once in Middle-Earth a race of little people once lived… They were often referred to as Halflings, though they are half of nothing. They were Hobbits. And one day they left Middle-Earth without a trace. Bilbo is a Hobbit, and we have known what happened to them since the time of his grandfather.”

Here Bilbo gave the stunned dwarves, all of which had drawn closer when Gandalf started to speak, a cheeky grin and waved as if he had heard a similar introduction many times. And indeed he may have to many groups of men, though never dwarves, for they would have passed along the tales of the lost race being found once more had they known. He said something briefly in that old sounding language to Gandalf, the only word of which the dwarves understood in the sentence being ‘dwarrow.’

“Indeed, though they have altered with the common language and are now known as dwarves, or dwarf.” Gandalf nodded, enlightening the hobbit. “As for why they are here… Bilbo is there any chance we might go to The Hobbiton? I would feel much more secure about speaking of this matter in a place I can truly trust that no one would overhear.”

Bilbo leaned back, a pensive look as he thought about bringing the dwarves to The Hobbiton. They were virtually strangers and very few people knew where the grotto could be found. “They are…” He said something that the dwarves once again did not understand.

“Absolutely. And they are different from hobbits, my dear Bilbo. You need never worry about what happened to the Shire happening at their hands.”

Bilbo waited another moment, tilting his head as he considered this before giving a nod. “Gather your things. You can stay at The Hobbiton tonight.” Bilbo gulped down his beer quickly before pulling a couple of shimmery white beads from his pocket and placing them on the table as payment before he slipped from chair. “I will wait at the west gate.”

And then the hobbit was out the door.

“Can we trust this creature, Gandalf?”

Gandalf turned a twinkling smile at Thorin. “With more than your life, Thorin. I would trust none more than I trust hobbits. Now, I believe we should get our belongings sharply, don’t you agree?” And he followed Bilbo’s example, picking his satchel from the floor beside his chair and ambling toward the door.

Dori had been looking curiously at the two white beads since Bilbo had left them. “I’ve never seen beads like those before.” He commented.

He had almost reached out to take one for inspection when the serving maid came to collect the empty mugs and saw the beads that had been left for her. She made a sharp exclamation that startled the dwarves and scooped the beads up, beaming at the payment that had been left. She squealed in delight, preening at the jewels before rushing over to her coworkers and showing off the beads. To the bafflement of the dwarves, when they went to pay their tab before leaving, learned that those two beads were apparently payment in full for their visit.

“Mystery beads of great value, apparently.” Balin commented as they left the tavern and headed toward the west gate. “Seems there is more to the lost race than we’d ever dream of learning. Perhaps in our whole lifetimes.”

With the prospect of aid on their quest, and a mystery to solve, the dwarves picked up their pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't think of any reason why dwarves would know what pearls were since they generally dig in rock and not in the water.


	4. The Hobbiton

The hobbit led the wizard and dwarves west along the coast of the Lhûn Gulf. He followed a relatively fresh set of tracks in the damp sand that were the size of his own feet that were heading in the opposite direction. This baffled the dwarves, as they didn’t know there were any settlements further west of the Grey Havens. Bilbo and Gandalf were both unbothered by this, talking softly about what seemed to be hobbit gossip. At least the hobbit seemed to be making an effort to speak in Westron, though he continued to refer to the wizard by his elfish name.

After an hour or two of walking, Bilbo abruptly turned north where a spur of the northern range of the Blue Mountains extended almost to the beach. Baffled, the dwarves could do naught but follow their barefooted guide. Once he started climbing up onto the lower part of the mountain itself, they started to feel more secure and confident about their destination. At least they did right up until he stopped at a particularly large boulder and gave it a shove as if he were strong enough to move the thing.

To the astonished eyes of the dwarves and the amused gaze of the wizard, the ‘boulder’ actually moved! And then swung up and out on creaky hinges to reveal that while the outside looked like solid stone, the interior was curved wood secured to a round frame that outlined a curving staircase made of carefully placed stones mortared together. The stairs led down into darkness.

“Thank you, Bilbo… I can never quite seem to remember where the entrance is myself when I come to see if anyone is visiting.” Gandalf ruffled Bilbo’s curls before stooping to fit into the low entrance and carefully making his way down the steps.

Bilbo turned to the dwarfs, seeing them hesitating at the hidden entrance.

One of the younger seeming ones leaned toward one of the older looking ones and whispered, “Is this the entrance to Hobbiton? How’d we not know they were living in the mountain?”

Unaware that the dwarves did not know of the exceptional hearing hobbits possessed, Bilbo answered. “No, isn’t Hobbiton.” His words were slow, as if trying to decide if he were saying them correctly. “Hobbiton is inside, but it isn’t Hobbiton.”

Because that comment obviously cleared things up, the dwarves looked between Bilbo and the opened doorway with distrust. Bilbo shuffled his feet uncomfortably before speaking again. “We should go inside now, yes? I have to make sure the door is closed properly to keep hobbits safe.”

That at least could be understood and the dwarves finally began to make their way in and down. When the last entered, Bilbo followed and secured the door. Upon turning around he almost smacked right into the scariest looking of the dwarfs, the one with large muscles and tattoos. The dwarf was staring at the latch, making sure he would be able to open it again before turning a stern look toward the much smaller hobbit.

“Don’t you be gettin’ any ideas about knifing any of us in the back.” The large dwarf growled, refusing to turn his back on the hobbit.

Bilbo looked stunned, mouth agape at the dwarf before he swiftly turned into a scowl and poked the dwarf’s chest over his folded arms. “You are rude.” Bilbo turned and started walking ahead of the dwarf, down the stairs in the near darkness. As he walked, he added. “I don’t even have a knife with me.”

The dwarf was torn for a moment between admiration for the hobbit’s bravery and scoffing at the hobbit’s stupidity all in one go before he grumbled and followed along. At the last step he finally looked somewhere other than between the hobbit’s shoulder blades and froze, just like the rest of the company had and stared, completely baffled by what he saw before him. The stairway let out onto a cliff the size of the tavern they had just been in and worn smooth by time and changing water currents. The cliff was inside a massive grotto and the only part above the waterline. The air smelled of salt and mushrooms, a scent explained easily by the glowing cave fungus that covered the ceiling. The water itself was lit from within by glowing cave fish the dwarves normally only saw within the deepest mines, but it was what was moored at the edge of the cliff that truly drew the eye…

A giant sea monster!

At least that was what it appeared to be at first glance. It had a large head with eyes that reflected the glow of the cave and a massive back that seemed covered in some kind of greenery… But it was the hobbits that were bouncing near the monster and calling out to Gandalf that made the situation even more surreal for the dwarves.

They ranged in age from a babe held in the wizard’s arms to knee-high toddlers, teens, tweens, adults, and even a few covered in the wrinkles of age. All of them brown-skinned and with hair in every shade of gold and silver imaginable… And most distracting of all, there was hardly a stitch of clothing among them!

The large dwarf felt his cheeks start to burn at the sight of dams and lads mingling so openly in what was obviously not a community bath, despite a few younger hobbits pulling themselves out of the water to greet the wizard. And, just when he couldn’t get any more baffled, three of the lads raced to the monster, leaping from the cliff onto the plant-covered back before disappearing!

Bilbo moved ahead of the dwarves, having held back to see the stunned reactions before gesturing to the sea monster with a sweep of his hand. “Be welcome, friends… To The Hobbiton.”

The Hobbiton, as the dwarfs came to know, was not a monster at all. It was a hobbit design based on a sea creature they called a turtle and was in fact a ship. Bilbo spoke plainly, holding one of his young cousins in his arms while the other hobbits gossiped with Gandalf, though some were edging toward the dwarves, curiosity in their gazes at the new, properly-sized people.

“Greedy men wanted what we had in the Shire. So we fled before they could harm us and Ulmo saved us.” Being driven from their home was something the dwarves definitely understood. Bilbo said it as a simple fact, though. The shorter lives of his race and the fact that hobbits were simply not as stubborn as stone meant that the upheaval of his race was but a distant fact from a history book and not something that burned in his heart with any true emotion for something that happened so long ago. “We build our ships in memory of the turtle that lead us to our new home. The Hobbiton is one of the biggest ships, but not one of our first. The original four ships we call the Farthings, because they were things that carried us far from what we were.”

There was a poetic ring to that the dwarves could appreciate… And a couple made surprised noises because they only just discovered some small hobbitlings had managed to worm their way into the group of dwarves that had settled down on the cliff to listen.

“Our ships have three levels. The lower level has the devices we made that propel the ship through the water…” Bilbo paused. “I am sorry, I do not think we have been able to translate into Westron what it is we call them.” The hobbit shrugged. “It is also where we store barrels of provisions and trade items… We are not currently on a trade mission; we were in fact on our way home when Mithrandir’s message reached us. The middle level of the ship is separated into homes for the families that live on The Hobbiton.” He hesitated a moment before adding. “Some always live on The Hobbiton, they do not like the way the land does not move under our feet. Some of us have homes there and on the island we call Shireland. The top level…” Bilbo gestured toward the green covered ‘back.’ “Is our garden. It provides us with clean air during long voyages and food to supplement what we fish from the sea. It also closes.”

“Closes?” One of the young dwarves, who had been introduced as Ori, looked up from where he was quickly scribbling in a ledger. “It doesn’t look like it can close…”

Bilbo grinned at this, but one of the tween hobbits that had crept over answered instead. (And seriously, how could these hobbits so sneakily insinuate themselves into the group of dwarves anyway?) 

“It was designed to open like a box.” The young tween pulled a small, carved piece of wood from his pocket. “This is a turtle.” He held it up so the dwarves could all see and then tugged at the edges of the turtle carving’s back, both sides opening on tiny hinges down and hanging open like a miniature window. Inside was a tiny portrait. The young hobbit willingly handed it to the nearest dwarf, one named Bombur, so the dwarf could inspect it and see how the hinges worked. It was passed around among the dwarfs and soon enough was back in the young hobbit’s pocket.

“That is a very good example, thank you very much cousin Drogo.”

Drogo beamed at his cousin’s praise.

“Drogo’s locket is a perfect example of what our ships look like and how they open on top. The Hobbiton is like that, only much bigger. And it can do a few more things besides.” Bilbo looked askance at that, obviously not willing to divulge everything at this particular meeting, but the dwarves did not fault him for that choice. He cleared his throat before continuing. “The ships were our homes for a long time before we were led to Shireland.”

Before Bilbo could say anything else, Gandalf chose to speak up. “Perhaps now that the dwarves are acquainted with the idea of The Hobbiton they would join us in the garden so that we may seal ourselves away and discuss the matter for which I have called you, Bilbo?”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Bilbo declared and soon the whole group of hobbits were up and hopping from the cliff to the garden. Most of them disappeared, saying they would bring supper, while others prepared to pull what they called the shell of the garden closed, grabbing ropes and levers before waiting for the dwarves to join them.

The youngest dwarves were the first ones to jump, more foolhardy and trusting than their elders. At first they swayed, looking startled at how the ground of the garden was both soft and firm while swaying with the movement of the ocean at the same time. Eventually they grinned and moved further into the garden and soon enough the whole Company had relocated and the hobbits closed the ship tightly before leaving Bilbo to have his conversation in private.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am on a roll tonight! *goes to start the next chapter*


	5. The Quest

Being inside of a small cavern was not an unusual sensation for a dwarf, but this cavernous chamber was not made of stone and, when the shell of The Hobbiton had closed, the plants grew both beneath their feet and above their heads, somehow not falling on them! And though the ground was solid enough, the entire floor swayed like a living creature thanks to the water below the ship. It was an unsettling sensation for beings that had been born and raised on solid stone.

The garden was not dark, despite the light from the grotto having been cut off. Instead there were patches of the same type of mushrooms that lit the grotto strategically placed around the garden to keep it lit well enough for the dwarves to see, much like the glowing crystals and stones they used to give light to the walkways where smoke from torches would be unwise. One particular cluster of the fungus outlined a hole in the floor near the head of the turtle ship that had a ladder, the place where the hobbits obviously had disappeared to when giving Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves their privacy.

Balin had moved over to the low slope of the ceiling near where the hinges allowed the shell to open, prodding gently at the loam from which the plants grew above their heads. “Its held in place by a tight net made of wood.” He sounded delighted. “That is positively ingenious! Whoever came up with that idea?” Balin turned the question toward the Captain of the ship.

Bilbo grinned. “Fauntlings.” At their confused look, he corrected. “Baby hobbits. When the Farthings were being built.” He laughed at the stunned look when it was revealed that the idea had come from babies.

Gandalf laughed as well. “Hobbits, you will learn, are very surprising creatures.” He winked at Bilbo from where he was seated, the only thing he could do in the low roofed garden, in the entire ship even… as he pulled a map from his satchel. “Gather round best you can, now… Bilbo, sit here.” He patted the sod beside him.

Once everyone was settled, Gandalf pointed to a lone mountain marked on the map and tapped it with his finger. “Thorin and half of his company are direct descendants of a line of dwarves that once ruled from their kingdom inside the mountain Erebor. Some of them were born within the mountain itself… Before the once king Thrór, Thorin’s grandfather, fell to a sickness of the mind. The sickness caused him to hoard gold for gold itself…”

“What is gold?” Bilbo interrupted curiously.

In other circumstances, the sputtering shock that simple question would have caused from the group of dwarves would have been absolutely hilarious. As it was, Gandalf choked his laugh back and Bilbo looked frustrated when no one answered his question.

Eventually Gandalf collected himself and responded. “Forgive me, Bilbo. Sometimes I forget how much hobbits no longer remember of the larger land.” He rummaged through his pockets before producing a gold coin, which he handed to the hobbit for inspection. “That coin is made from gold, a metal that dwarves, men, elves, and some other races prize above all other metals.”

Bilbo hummed at the coin, turning it over in his hand. “Its heavy.” He noted before asking the practical question. “Is it good for hinges?” Since hinges were about the only thing hobbits used metal for, it was to him an obvious thing to ask… and one that sent the barely recovering dwarves into further fits!

Gandalf laughed gaily. “No Bilbo, it is mostly used for jewelry and as a way to easily count the value of their trade goods.” When Bilbo looked skeptical, the wizard added, “It is far easier to carry a pocket full of gold across land than it is to carry a couple of barrels worth of goods.”

Bilbo made a bemused sound before handing the coin back to Gandalf. “The way the elves love the pearls?”

“Just so!” Gandalf beamed at the hobbit before drawing his attention back to the matter at hand by tapping the lonely mountain once more. The dwarves had yet to recover, so he merely continued explaining to Bilbo. “Among the non-hobbits having large amounts of gold is seen as making one wealthy, it means they can trade the gold for the things they need to keep their families and people fed and their kingdoms rich. But the sickness of Thrór made it so that he was doing his best to keep all of the gold for himself, just so he could have it and look at it. This sickness and the large amount of gold called forth a terrible creature of destruction.”

From another pocket Gandalf produced a drawing of a dragon. “His name is Smaug, and he came from the sky bringing fire and death, driving the dwarves from their home to claim the gold that the sickness had stored in the king’s treasury. The dwarves that survived his arrival were forced to flee their homes and wander, looking for a new place to settle. Many died on the journey and in their attempts to find a home. Finally they stopped in the far northern part of the mountains we are in now.” He gestured vaguely upward. “But it is no true home, for the mountains are dying here and the dwarves make shelters on the sides of the mountains, for it is not safe enough for them to go deeper and make a true home. There are fewer and fewer babes each year… Their people are dying.”

Gandalf’s words were intentionally phrased to strike at the love of home and family that hobbits had in abundance. He felt some guilt for manipulating one of his dearest friends in this way, but he could not do it any other way, for his gifts as one of the Maiar told him that Bilbo had to agree to give them aid, for the other options would doom the quest before it started.

Bilbo considered this tale thoughtfully before glancing up at the dwarves who, having recovered from the fits Bilbo’s lack of gold knowledge gave them, now wore grieving expressions for the dwindling appearance of children among their people. At the looks on their faces, Bilbo knew he would do whatever was in his power to help. And any time a stray thought tried to make him think different, he only had to remind that thought of what it would be like to never hear the patter of fauntling feet running through the levels of The Hobbiton again. He looked up at Gandalf.

“What must I do?”

Gandalf breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to clasp Bilbo’s hand. “Hobbits… They give me much hope.” And when Bilbo gave him a tentative smile, he began to explain. “Your task is remarkably simple, my dear Bilbo. You need merely provide the dwarves with safe passage to Erebor. Then their task will be to slip in and battle the dragon.”

The hobbit looked around at the determined faces of the dwarves and asked another question. “How big are dragons?”

The Maiar considered the question for a moment. “Bigger than two of the Farthings, at least… But not as big as the Leviathans that guard Ulmonan.” In an aside to the dwarves, he added, “Ulmonan is the palace of Ulmo.”

This did not really clarify anything for the dwarves, since they had no idea how someone could visit Ulmo’s palace deep in the outer sea, but Bilbo gave a knowing nod before asking another question.

“Would not an army be better?”

Shaking his head sadly, Gandalf replied. “No, the dwarven army was nearly crushed when Smaug arrived. It is my truest belief that a dedicated few would have a better chance of outwitting the beast than trying to overwhelm him with numbers.”

Bilbo looked over the map again before pointing out an obvious flaw in Gandalf’s plan. “There is no waterway that connects the Erebor to the sea… How can I get them there?”

Gandalf brightened. “That is where this other map I have will be more useful.” He rummaged through his pockets again before pulling a larger map out of hiding. “This map was given to me long ago by Manwë himself. It is a priceless object, made as the Valar were designing the world… And most importantly it shows how the land was designed… Before Ulmo created water.”

Gandalf sat back as the dwarves and hobbit looked at the priceless artifact.

Bilbo, a connoisseur of maps, immediately felt his eyes drawn to where he knew the grotto to be located. He saw a dotted line mapping the outline of the grotto under the mountains and then leading in a path toward what would become the Gulf of Lhûn. “That’s…”

Gandalf nodded, pleased that Bilbo had discovered what the lines meant.

Taking this knowledge, Bilbo compared the two maps, one that showed the water, and one that showed the lines of things underground. It didn’t take him long to see the line Gandalf intended him to find. Bilbo traced the line where one map clearly marked the Anduin River, then slid his fingers along the dotted line that curved around unknown lines all the way east to the inland Sea of Rhûn, which in turn joined the Celduin River that ran northwest from the Sea. The Celduin went by a large area marked Greenwood the Great, a small dot labeled Esgaroth, and then up almost right to the base of Erebor.

“Exactly!” Gandalf clapped his hands with delight.

Bilbo peered more closely at the dotted passageway. “The Hobbiton will not fit that way.”

Gandalf nodded, giving Bilbo a sly look. “The Hobbiton will not.” He agreed. “But… Bag End will!”

Startled, Bilbo looked up at Gandalf before murmuring, “There would barely be enough room for us in Bag End… No other hobbits could make the journey.”

Knowing what Bilbo meant, Gandalf hastened to assure him. “The dwarves will not leave you stranded, dear Bilbo.”

Before the dwarves could unravel the meaning of this, Bilbo had jumped to his feet, startling them all. He hastened toward the ladder to the lower levels, raising his voice as he slid down the ladder from view.

“Look alive, hobbits! We’re setting out after supper; we need to make the morning tide out of the Gulf… We head to Shireland!”

A round of cheers could be heard from below before several hobbits sprang into view, bringing food to the dwarves and wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting chapter 6 now... I'm on fire! :D


	6. Inside A Turtle

Supper, to what should not have been the surprise of the dwarves, contained quite a bit of fish. Which they ultimately were thankful for, as it also contained a large amount of greenery no doubt from the garden and what Gandalf informed them was exotic fruits found only in the Shireland. The Shireland, Gandalf explained, was a large island surrounded by several dozen smaller islands all of which the hobbits either lived on or farmed in some way when not fishing or trading their goods with the elves and men in the Grey Havens. Unfortunately, supper also contained quite a big of things that Gandalf said were from creatures that lived deep in the sea where other races rarely ventured.

The worst part was that right after he said that, he put what he had identified as the tentacle of a small squid in his lips and slurped it up before making delighted sounds as he chewed on the thing and made several of the dwarves turn green…

Other things looked like slimy tan lumps served in shells or giant bugs with small wooden hammers resting nearby… All in all, it was quite a horrifying repast that quickly devolved into the dwarves daring each other to try things and besmirching each other’s dwarfhood when no one would try anything they didn’t immediately recognize. Somehow no one noticed Bombur sitting off to the side and polishing off the quite delectable salad that had been served with the meal, nor did they see Bifur gamely eating everything on his plate, delighting in the sheer newness of the meal.

After a reasonable amount of time, the hobbits returned to clear away the leftovers and warned them to prepare for leaving the grotto before they returned to the living area below.

“What do they mean by prepare?” The large tattooed dwarf, Dwalin, asked suspiciously.

“Think we should light up a fire and roast some sausages from our stores?” Bofur mused.

Surprisingly it was one of the younger and more reckless dwarves that swatted Bofur enough to knock the furry hat off his head. “Even I’m not that stupid…” The young blonde Fíli declared. “We’re inside a wooden boat. If we didn’t set the thing on fire and sink it, the smoke would choke us.”

A couple of the older dwarves made soft noises at the youngster’s surprising wisdom.

“What do we have to prepare?” Dwalin demanded again before turning to look at the only one who could possibly know.

But Gandalf was no help, having lain down with his satchel as a pillow and his hat pulled down over his eyes. He was also giving a passable attempt at feigning sleep with the sound of snoring coming from under that hat.

Just then Dwalin’s question was answered by piercing whistle followed by a rushing sound burbling from the sides of the ship and suddenly the front end dipped alarmingly downward.

“We’re sinking!” The youngest dwarf, Kíli, squealed loudly before toppling over at the ship’s change in inclination from where he had been standing and looking at a possibly edible fruit hanging from the ceiling of the garden.

A couple of the other dwarves tipped over and rolled toward the front end of the ship, and the open ladder hole, with various sounds of surprise before they managed to grab hold of some of the sturdier plants on the ground of the garden and arrest their momentum. It wasn’t until the floor started to level out beneath their feet that the sudden sound of giggles came from around the garden.

Looking around, the dwarves found that the younger hobbitlings, those that were probably not yet teens, had sneaked their way into the garden sometime after their dinner and were giggling over the clumsy dwarven reaction to simply leaving the grotto. Despite being laughed at, the dwarves just couldn’t find it in their hearts to be angry with the tiny children. And, once things were settled down and it seemed the ship was moving smoothly, Bilbo’s head popped up through the hole.

“Goodness gracious! I hope no one got hurt… It isn’t often we get new visitors, so I simply forgot to mention how abrupt it could be!” He seemed genuinely contrite, so when polite ‘no harm dones’ were muttered around, no one noticed the wink and tiny smirk he gave the hobbitlings who were suddenly overcome with another case of the giggles.

“If the fauntlings are bothering you, let me know and I’ll send them back to their homes. They do tend to spend a lot of time in the garden normally, I’m afraid. But I’ll not have them disturbing guests…” Bilbo looked around at the dwarves, but most of them already had a fauntling or two in their laps while the fauntlings curiously touched beards, rounded ears, and in one suddenly alarming case, an axe!

“They are absolutely not in the way at the moment, Captain.” The bushy red headed dwarf Glóin proclaimed. “The wee ones are rare among us, and we’d ne’er turn them away unless it were for their own safety.”

Bilbo smiled. “Very well… I’ve rousted the older tweens out of the empty rooms that they shouldn’t be staying in anyway. Unfortunately there are only two empty at this time, so there’s not enough room for all of you unless you pack in tightly… But they’re on offer in any event. And I can give you a tour if you’re interested. Though it will take us a while to reach Shireland and you’ll have more than enough time to see The Hobbiton on the way there if you’d rather wait.”

“I want to see!” Kíli popped up from his spot, a fauntling hanging from his shoulders.

“I would see as well, Captain.” Thorin rose, looking regal despite having a fauntling clinging to each of his legs. “I am curious to know what caused the tilt…”

Thorin’s decision had Dwalin standing as well while the rest of the Company decided they’d rather play with the hobbitlings that night instead.

“This way then… Their parents will probably show up in an hour or so to start herding them off to bed.” With a wave, Bilbo led the trio of dwarves down the ladder and to the middle level. After a moment, his head popped back up into view before he pointed at the fauntlings in general. “And if the dwarves need the facilities, one of you had better show them where to go!” And then he went back down the hole.

“Three halls lead from this point.” He waved at them, one leading straight back and two curving off to the sides before heading toward the back as well. He led them straight down the middle hall to the end where a row of six doors led to separate facilities. “The facilities are in the very back and all three halls will get you there. Since the ship generally only goes forward, it just works better that way. We unfortunately can only empty it when we’re in motion, otherwise things get a smell topside very quickly.” He gave a quick demonstration of the various levers to hide and or empty the facilities. “We do have barrels of fresh water, but most of that is used for drinking and cooking. We bathe in the sea itself… Salt on the skin is surprisingly good at preventing odors from accumulating.” Bilbo politely ignored the uncomfortable squirming from the dwarves. But had the dwarves even been on regular ships, the turtle ships were nothing like the ships made by men or elves and some things just had to be stated plainly. “If you start to dry out, skin or hair, we have plenty of oils with various scents to help with that.

“The larger homes are these two middle rows.” Bilbo gestured to the two rows of on either side of the middle hall. “The bigger families live in them and they’re also the ones with their own food preparation areas. The last rooms on each side, closest to the ladder, are communal eating and prepping areas for when we’re not on the surface and don’t want to be in the garden for whatever reason.” He led the way up one of the side halls, stopping to put a hand on one of the doors. Like all of the other doors it had a plaque on it with archaic writing carved into the wood. “This is my room, the plaque merely says ‘Captain’ as the captains of the ships do change from time to time. I imagine the next captain when I board us on The Bag End will merely use it as an office, or swap out the plaque for their own quarters.” That was said more as an afterthought before he led them to curved hall on the other side of the ship. 

“And here are the empty rooms.” Bilbo opened the round doors of the rooms, rooms that were simple and each had one bed against the outer wall of the ship and two strange contraptions made of rope nets with folded blankets and pillows atop them were stacked one above the other against one wall.

“What are these?” Kíli asked, poking at the higher of the two net devices.

“We call them hammocks.” Bilbo explained. “Hanging beds.” He clarified at their confused expressions. “A lot of hobbits prefer them when the weather gets bad and the ship is rolling in the waves.” He spread out the blankets and helped Kíli up into the hammock where the young dwarf promptly started making it sway.

“I like this! Wait until I show Fíli…”

Thorin rolled his eyes at his nephew. “If you’re done playing, perhaps we can continue the tour?”

Blushing, Kíli rolled out of the hammock, yelping when he knocked his elbows and knees on the floor in his dismount, and scrambled to his feet. “Yes, uncle.”

Thorin shook his head and gestured to the amused Bilbo to lead the way.

Going down to the next level revealed the real working place of the ship. The main area beneath the middle rows of homes above was supported by stout posts and left otherwise open. It revealed six rows of six strange devices, at each of which a hobbit was seated, bent forward and gripping handles while their legs pushed strongly against planks of wood that turned large wheels attached to cords, ropes, and chains that was somehow mind boggling to the dwarves with the busy activity that seemed to lead nowhere.

“What in the…” Dwalin’s voice trailed off as he watched the hobbits, bemused at the activity.

It wasn’t until a voice coming from behind them called out that the stunned dwarves could move again.

“Left!” The voice was familiar, belonging to the tween Drogo and came from a dark tunnel leading out the front end of the ship. His command caused some other hobbits hanging around the sides of the ship to grab hold of levers and pulleys and a gentle sway from the ship indicated they had moved at his bidding.

“The rooms along the sides of the work hall are filled with the provisions and trade goods.” Bilbo’s amused voice carried over the sound of busy hobbits and caused the dwarves to look at him, eyes wide at the difference this level held compared to the others. He grinned at them.

Before he had a chance to explain anything, a sopping wet hobbit that was obviously not Drogo emerged from the dark tunnel. “Ho there, Captain.”

Bilbo smiled. “Fosco! We’re in the Gulf then?”

“Aye, clear sailing ‘til the mouth and then just a wait for the tide to turn in our favor. You gonna show them the secret now?” The older hobbit looked very amused.

Equally amused, Bilbo bounced on his toes. “Yes, we should be able to squeeze all of us in there with Drogo…” He patted Fosco on the shoulder and then beckoned the dwarves to follow him into the tunnel.

The tunnel wasn’t that long, considering what The Hobbiton was doing at the moment, a series of short, narrow steps aiding in a low incline into a room where Bilbo quickly budged his cousin over against a wall to make room in the space that was usually only used for two or three hobbits for the addition of three larger dwarves. And when the dwarves entered the small room, they were stunned silent once more. Because the room had two very large and clean glass windows… windows that had been the eyes of the turtle’s large head when it was on the surface… windows that a small school of fish suddenly darted in front of…

“We’re… We’re… Under the water!” Kíli screeched, something rather like horror in his suddenly high-pitched voice.

The exclamation was followed by a heavy thud as one of the older dwarfs fainted dead away and hit the floor!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have been distracted by dwarf/hobbit smut in someone else's story in the middle of writing this one... *innocent expression*
> 
> *runs off to start the next chapter*


	7. The Sea - part 1

Kíli was never, ever going to let him live it down. Ever.

Which was exactly why Dwalin had the giggling young dwarf in a headlock and was making sure that the little snot didn’t get far enough away to make a run up the ladder to tell the other dwarves. Unfortunately for Dwalin, Thorin was smirking every time he glanced at the beefier dwarf as well. He kept a steady, unamused look on his leader even as he squeezed lightly on Kíli when the youngster tried to squirm away.

Bilbo seemed perfectly oblivious, moving between his and the food prep rooms in which the dwarves were waiting. He was collecting maps so that he could show explain the route The Hobbiton would be taking. Once he had them spread out to his satisfaction, he gestured the dwarves over.

“We’re currently on our way to the mouth of the Gulf.” He pointed to the general area they were in and stopped his finger on the mouth. “We’ll drop anchor here.” His finger moved a bit to the inside and south of where the Gulf let into the sea. “We could just go straight through, but we know from experience how exhausting that is, so we wait until the tide turns, more of the water going out than in. It allows for a swifter and less tiring journey. Once we’re about here…” He slid his finger through the opening and to a spot some distance southwest of the mouth. “We’ll surface again. Then it takes about three days to reach the great south current.”

While the dwarves watched the explanation, Kíli trying to swat Dwalin’s arm into letting him go, Bilbo moved a different map on top of the one he had been pointing things out on and gestured to what they assumed was the same place they would be surfacing. This map seemed to mark deeper places in the water and had swirls and arrows that the dwarves were unfamiliar with marking the surface.

“When we reach the great south current,” Bilbo moved his finger to show the group of dark black arrows pointing mostly south, “we’ll go under beneath the water again. It’s faster to ride the current below the surface.” He explained, glancing up at Thorin before moving his look to the other dwarves. “We’ll be under water then for almost seven days before leaving the current. And then it’s another day and a half on the surface until we reach Shireland.” Bilbo’s fingers traced the route and jabbed firmly on a blank outline that was undoubtedly the new home of the hobbits.

“I will need at least four days to arrange my things and make sure The Bag End is stocked with enough supplies to see us further along… And I’d like another day before we depart, since Drogo’s birthday will be soon after we arrive and he’s coming of age. And then we can depart on your quest. Is this acceptable, Master Oakenshield?”

Thorin moved closer to inspect the map. The distance that Bilbo had marked off as taking them approximately fifteen days in the ocean would take a rider on horseback at least a month. He looked at the shape of the land and how the great south current’s lines curved with it to head in the direction of the mouth of the Anduin. He felt confident that Gandalf was correct and that going to the Hobbits would tremendously cut down on the travel time as well as preventing any hunting parties from interfering in their venture.

“That would be more than acceptable, Captain Baggins.”

Bilbo smiled and then pulled over one of the maps he had borrowed from Gandalf. “We do not often go up rivers, but the Anduin is large and deep enough… Which brings me to my next point. The Bag End is not large enough to carry any experienced hobbits aboard as well as your company. My father built it as a wedding gift to my mother for perhaps one or two hobbit families. You and your dwarves will have to help or it will not move. It requires at least three people at any given time… Are you willing to work with the crew of the Hobbiton over the next few days before we hit the current to learn how to run a hobbit ship?”

At first it seemed that Thorin would take umbrage at being outright told that he would have to work as well, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He couldn’t exactly sit and lounge around all day while everyone else did the work. And he was more than capable of working just as hard as the rest of the crew. “We will make certain we are more than up to the task, Captain.”

“Good!” Bilbo beamed. “We should reach the anchor point in about…” He turned to glance at the clockwork timepiece hanging near the door of the prep room. “Four hours. If you could have some of your dwarves present to learn the basic anchor drop procedure, that would be wonderful.”

“Some of the Company will be present.” Thorin agreed.

“Excellent. We generally work in four-hour rotations so no one gets overly tired, hobbits tend toward comfort so when we’re not on a tight schedule things are a lot different… But seeing as you’re on a quest, I see no qualms about putting your Company to work learning right away since you are willing.” Bilbo seated himself, nudging the stack of maps off to the side a bit and pulling a basic layout map of The Hobbiton from under the stack. “On a normal day on The Bag End we will need three people up and aware any time we’re not at anchor. The Bag End is smaller with only two levels: the upper garden level and the lower work level. The only beds in Bag End are hammocks that can be strung up in the garden. The three needed at any time are one in the head to keep a lookout, our spotter.” He pointed to the head on The Hobbiton schematic. “And two to run the…” He said some word that didn’t seem to have a translation as he pointed to the outline of the machines they had seen the hobbits working on earlier that propelled the ship. “We will have to take the first day or two slowly to work on the differences. Bag End is smaller and faster than Hobbiton, but it involves more work that I think will be easy to learn if we have already covered the basics on The Hobbiton.”

Thorin nodded. “I will speak with the Company. Balin and I will ensure that the rotation groups are those that work best together with the least squabbling.”

Bilbo hesitated a moment. “I will have to teach you our hand language.”

Kíli, still halfheartedly struggling in Dwalin’s grip, paused and perked up. “You have a hand language? What’s it for? What’s it like?”

“When going to new places it is sometimes necessary for a hobbit to be outside the turtle and in the water itself… especially if we’re going to be going through an underwater cave. To make sure the ship won’t get stuck.” At the looks of understanding, Bilbo continued. “There’s a hatch in the floor of the head.” He pointed to the extra thick part of the line on the base of the turtle head in the schematic. “The one sent out, which will be my job during the journey, uses our hand language to let the spotter in the head know if it is safe to proceed and if we need to change directions. That’s why Fosco was wet earlier, he was guiding Drogo out of the grotto.” As Bilbo spoke the last sentence, he deliberately moved his hands to ‘say’ the same thing in the hand language.

All three of the dwarves present froze at the gestures, staring at Bilbo hard enough that he started to look uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?”

Dwalin made a strangled sound that was quickly mimicked by Kíli, though judging from the way Kíli’s face was turning red… he really was being strangled in the headlock Dwalin had on him!

Thorin reached out and gripped Dwalin’s arm to get him to ease up on Kíli before taking a deep breath and asking very, very carefully, “Captain Baggins… Just where did your people learn Iglishmêk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so not ready to end this chapter, but the closer I got to that last line the more I decided that I had to end it there. Hence the 'part 1.' *giggles*
> 
> Another note: I do a surprising amount of research when I find a series I like and while I didn't look up the dates specifically for this fic, I did learn a while back that in Tolkien's timeline Drogo did come of age sometime during the same year that Bilbo went on his adventure. Since I do bring Drogo into the story, I felt it only proper to mention his coming of age. :D


	8. The Sea - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks this chapter* I really struggled through the middle part for some reason.

“Iglishmêk?” Bilbo looked confused. “What is Iglishmêk?”

“Ye just spoke it, Captain!” Dwalin gritted out.

“Indeed, Captain.” Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Iglishmêk is the sign language dwarves have been using since our creation so that we could speak to each other in noisy forges.” He sighed. “And until today we had thought that no race apart from our own spoke it.”

The hobbit seemed to have no idea how to respond to the rather dangerous tone of Thorin’s last statement. It turned out he didn’t have to.

“This is great!” Kíli suddenly bounced straight up with such enthusiasm that he finally broke Dwalin’s headlock on him. “Do you see, uncle?” Without giving Thorin a chance to reply, Kíli continued. “In our oldest history lessons there’s a mention of a lost race called Holbytlans of which it was speculated that Durin’s wife was a member of… Hobbits must be the lost Holbytlans! That they know Iglishmêk shows the connection…” Kíli was practically vibrating in his glee. “Hobbits are our long lost cousins!” Without further ado, Kíli bounced toward the hobbit captain and threw his arms around the startled hobbit in an embrace! “Cousin!”

Dwalin made another strangled sound and turned to Thorin. “You mean to tell me that your dunderheaded nephew actually paid attention to his history lessons enough to remember the mystery of Durin’s wife?”

Thorin rubbed his temples as if he were developing a headache. “To be fair, our people have spent a lot of time contemplating the mystery of Durin’s wife since all we have left of her from that time is a single statue in which she was mostly covered in furs at Durin’s side. And, as strange as the idea is… Kíli does seem to be on to something.”

“You mean the hobbit?” Dwalin sounded amused.

Thorin looked over to see Bilbo flailing in Kíli’s tight hug as the enthusiastic young dwarf excitedly jabbered at ‘his’ long lost ‘cousin.’ Thorin felt like banging his head on the wall as he grabbed Kíli’s arm and yanked him off the hobbit. “Don’t strangle the hobbit, we still need him.”

Bilbo staggered back into his seat, gasping for air.

Kíli turned his hug onto his uncle instead. “We’ve found lost family, uncle! I have to tell Fíli!” And before anyone could stop him, Kíli released Thorin and took off out of the room, the sound of his booted feet soon faded as he scrambled up the ladder. They could faintly hear his excited yelling filtering from the garden above. “Fíli!”

“It would seem that now would be a good time for me to confer with the Company on the matter of rotation groups, Captain. Since it seems we already know your hand language... A group will be ready to join you when it is time to drop anchor.”

“See you then, gentledwarves.” Bilbo sketched a bow and gathered up the various maps and the schematic as the dwarves took their leave.

When Thorin and Dwalin rejoined the Company it was to find that the dwarves mostly held baffled looks as Kíli and Fíli were speaking so quickly about Kíli’s ‘discovery’ that the others couldn’t exactly keep up. Dwalin moved over to the boys and grabbed hold of Kíli again, putting the hyper young dwarf in a headlock again to keep him from bouncing around so much. It was testament to how often this kind of thing happened that it didn’t interrupt the brothers’ chattering at all.

Thorin looked around at the others before moving to sit next to Balin. “Where’s Bombur?”

Balin grimaced slightly. “One of the hobbitlings had to show him to the facilities. The rocking of the ship was making him ill.”

“That or all of the green food he ate at supper…” Ori muttered from where he was writing almost as fast as Kíli was speaking.

Rolling his eyes at the young scribe’s well known dislike of vegetables, Thorin cleared his throat in such as way as to draw attention. “We will not just be lounging around on this journey. Captain Baggins has suggested that in less than four hours we begin learning what we will need to know to assist him in getting the other ship, The Bag End, to move. They use a rotation schedule so no one gets overworked. We will be dividing the Company into work teams and all of us will be learning each of the needed roles so that if necessary we can switch things around. We’ll make base groupings, but we will be able to switch things around.”

For a while they discussed the merits of certain groupings and how the odd number meant that Thorin could sit out if they made it four groups of three. Then someone pointed out that Bombur had gotten ill from the rocking and they didn’t know if he’d be able to regularly join a group when needed which left one group potentially short a dwarf in that case. They eventually decided on three groups of four, so each group had someone that could step in to spell one of the others as needed and Thorin could join them all until he collapsed if he wanted.

That last comment earned Bofur a glare from Thorin, though he couldn’t really deny it since he did have a tendency to work until he collapsed.

“The first group will be Balin, Ori, Bifur, and Glóin. The next group will be Dwalin, Dori, Kíli, and Bombur. And the last group will be Fíli, Nori, Óin, and Bofur. I will accompany the first group down when we go to learn how to use the anchor mechanism.”

The dwarves in the first grouping gave nods of acceptance. 

“Thorin,” Dori spoke up when it seemed that Thorin was done for the moment. “Kíli said something about Iglishmêk when he came back…”

Kíli’s attention was drawn at the mention of Iglishmêk and he squirmed in Dwalin’s hold to better see the silver haired dwarf. “Hobbits are our cousins.” He declared.

“We don’t know that.” Dwalin snapped at the young prince.

“Dwalin is right, Kíli. We don’t know.” At Kíli’s mutinous look Thorin continued. “But there is a strong argument that they could be.”

“How so?” Balin asked.

Ori poised to write this new information down.

“Apparently hobbits know Iglishmêk and use it when they’re in the water. We did not get a chance to learn where they learned it from; I will take time in the future to inquire. Kíli suspects that Durin’s wife was a hobbit.”

This information prompted a discussion that lasted for a while until some of the dwarves not in the first group finally went down to the rooms given to them so they could rest. Dwalin finally released Kíli. Bofur and Nori started playing dice. Bombur eventually made his return and was given an update on what he had missed. He agreed to his place in the schedule and was soon leaning back against the side of the garden and mopping sweat from his pale face while his cousin fussed over him.

Eventually Thorin decided that the first group should head down to the middle level so he could keep an eye on the timepiece. As they were heading down the ladder, he heard Fíli asking Dwalin a question…

“So, Dwalin… How does it feel to faint like a damsel in one of those stories of men?”

Thorin sighed. “Did we have to bring them along, Balin?”

“You know we did, Thorin. Dís threatened to lead a revolt if we didn’t get them out of her beard for a while.”

Ori gave a surprised laugh and quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, blushing.

Balin gave the young scribe a fond smile and winked as they went into the room.

Once inside, the curious dwarves started poking through the various cabinets and drawers to see what the hobbits kept in their food prep rooms. There were barrels of different foods, most of which they didn’t recognize by name and some of which had been served to them at supper. The drawers had various utensils, most of which were carved from wood or shells. The knives had metal blades and, for the most part, looked as if they were designed hundreds of years ago… with inferior man and elf quality workmanship.

Balin and Thorin sat down to discuss the possibility of trade with the hobbits once they reclaimed Erebor. Certainly the exotic trade goods they possessed could have a wide market on the main land. Glóin stood over by the timepiece, poking at it and muttering about taking it apart to see if he could figure out who made it since the gears were hidden inside a wooden box covering carved in the hobbit style. Ori was cataloguing the contents of the room and writing down what he could find of the written hobbit language for future translation. Eventually Thorin announced that it was time for them to head down to the bottom level. 

Bilbo was waiting for them, chatting with Fosco whom he quickly parted from to greet the dwarves. “Dropping anchor is the easiest part. You just have to slow down as much as possible before.” He gestured to where the hobbits sitting at the foot crank machines were now lounging around and chatting or heading up the ladder. “Faster stops are possible, but the anchor line has a higher chance of snapping then.”

The hobbit led them to a device between the middle rows of foot cranks not too far from the ladder that Thorin hadn’t noticed on his previous trip. A thick rope was coiled around the horizontal bar that had hand cranks on either end. The rope went from the coil down through a hole about four times the width of the rope. Peering down the hole revealed a dark drop of about an arm’s length before it became too dark to see where it led.

“This is the anchor windlass. When Drogo gives the call to drop anchor it only takes one person to do so. You take hold of this lever here…” Bilbo put his hands on the large lever that was clamped to the spokes on the sides of the rope coil’s wheels. “And you pull. It’s real simple. To raise it one or two people just turn the hand cranks on the sides of the windlass.”

“We used to use something similar in the larger water wells in Erebor.” Balin commented.

“Good, then you’re used to the way it works.” Bilbo sounded relieved.

Before he could continue, Drogo’s voice called from the head. “Drop anchor!”

Bilbo stepped aside and gestured to the lever.

“Ori.” Thorin nodded Ori into action, knowing that as the youngest dwarf present he’d have the least chance experience with that type of device.

Ori gulped as he stepped into the place Bilbo had vacated.

“If you need to brace yourself, the base of the lever is reinforced. Do not release it immediately. You have to keep it open until you feel a jolt under your feet. When you feel the jolt, count to fifty then you can release the lever. That allows enough rope to allow for shifts in the current.”

Ori gave a sharp nod, put one of his feet on the base, and then pulled. He slowly increasing the strength of his pull until the wood stays finally unlocked from the windlass. As soon as it was free, the windlass span in place as the anchor dropped. After a few minutes they all felt the jolt Bilbo had mentioned and the rope pulled instantly toward one side of the hole. Ori mouthed the numbers as he counted to fifty before releasing the lever. It snapped back over to the windlass, catching and locking the stays into place once more. Ori stepped back cautiously.

Bilbo grinned at the young dwarf. “Well done. We’re still moving, but the anchor will slow us more quickly and soon we’ll stop. With the direction of the current as it is now, the rope will eventually settle here.” He knelt down to show a particular spot on the edge of the hole. “When the rope moves away from that spot and over to here,” he moved to a different spot. “The tide will have changed to the direction we need for the trip through the mouth of the Gulf. The time tides change varies, so on the times we need it, someone is on tide watch. Today’s Otho’s day.” He indicated a tween off to one side.

“Hello!” Otho smiled and gave a wave.

“I looked over the maps again and I don’t think we’ll have to worry about tides once we leave Shireland, so there isn’t really any need for any of you to wait unless you want to. Otho will blow his whistle when the rope starts to move and that’s the alert for the rowers to race down so that we can move on. I know it isn’t a traditional rowboat, but it amounts to the same thing, so rowers… Do all five of you wish to join the rowers when we leave the Gulf?”

“Yes.” Thorin agreed for all of them.

Giving a nod, Bilbo pointed out five of the foot crank machines nearest the windlass. “They have markings on the handles. Just arrows that point either left or right as a reminder. If the spotter calls out left, those with a left arrow push faster and the right arrows stop. If they call right, right arrows go faster and left arrows stop. It will be a bit more involved on the Bag End since the rowers double as steerers but I’ll wait until we’re in Bag End to explain.” He paused before remembering to add, “Otho will whistle three times when the tide changes. You can do as you like until then. I’ll be in my room.”

When Bilbo left, the dwarves split up. Ori went to speak with Otho. Glóin went back up the ladder to sit with the others. Balin moved off to the side to nap until Otho blew the whistle. Bifur went up the ladder as well but gave no indication of his destination, and Thorin went to sit in the head of the turtle and speak with Drogo about the duties of spotters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Otho was about 31 during the beginning of The Hobbit while Lobelia was about 23? That means if they truly were married when they took over Bag End about a year later then they were both underage. Naughty, naughty.
> 
> Okay, I didn't plan the cousins thing Kíli ran with. That's something I've been working on for my other fic "The Family Ri." I really didn't plan on it being in this one. Bad Kíli! *sneaks him a cookie*
> 
> Anything that seems legit about the nautical crap... Is mostly crap. I did some half-assed research, remembered things I'd read in books or saw in movies, and made up a bunch of crap. Don't take anything as fact!


	9. The Sea - part 3

Five hours later found the first group of dwarves and Thorin sleeping in one of the rooms or the garden. The second group was taking their turn below, Dori and Dwalin on the foot cranks, Bombur trying between spells of racing to the nearest facilities to be ill, and Kíli working with a couple of hobbits, Jago Boffin and Prisca Baggins, to learn how to be a spotter since he had the best eyes in his group. Well, he was sitting with Jago inside the head… Prisca was outside of the turtle… Swimming in front of them… Nude. Kíli stared out of the window, a look of intense concentration on his face as he tried to listen to Jago.

“Bilbo and I are close cousins, unlike quite a few of our cousins running around here. Our mothers were sisters, Bilbo’s mother being the oldest of Gerontius Took’s daughters. Though she did have seven older brothers and one younger brother.” Jago glanced to make certain Prisca was okay before turning once more to look at the dwarf’s profile. “Since Bilbo announced his plan to leave The Hobbiton for a while we’ve been wondering just who he’s going to make Captain. If Drogo were older, I’d put my stars on him, but he isn’t so I’ve put them on his da’ Fosco. They’re Bilbo’s cousins as well, Fosco’s father Largo bein’ the youngest brother of Bilbo’s grandfather Mungo… Now we don’t generally keep the Captain in the family line, since older tweens and young adults tend to want to change ships when we’re in the Shireland to get away from their parents. I know there’s a youngster, barely out of her teens, wants Otho to marry her and put in a bid to try to be Captain of The Hobbiton, but between you and me Otho doesn’t want it. Not to mention she kind of scares him. If I’m near you I’ll give you a nudge when she catches up to him in Shireland so you can see the look of fear on his face. It’s worth it for a laugh at the poor lad. Though once we get our chuckles in at him we do help him avoid her, at least. Now Otho ain’t a bad ‘un, but he also don’t want to be on a ship for long either. He much prefers staying in Shireland, but he keeps hopping on board one ship or another to hide from that lass.”

Jago tutted and gave a sad shake of his head. “Shame, she’s a pretty little thing, my cousin, and could have her choice of sweethearts. But she doesn’t seem to be interested in anything but her own agenda. I don’t understand it, her mam is my father’s sister and we Boffins teach our fauntlings better than that. I can’t help but wonder if it’s a Bracegirdle family thing or if Lobelia somehow picked it up from somewhere. I’d wonder if she were dropped on her head as a babe, but ain’t a hobbit alive that would do and make no mistake.”

Before Jago could continue, Kíli turned to stare at him, his features locked in a disturbed expression that caused Jago to pause. After several minutes of silence, Kíli finally spoke.

“Doesn’t she need to breathe?!”

Jago blinked. Then blinked again. Finally he burst out laughing as if he had just heard the best joke ever.

Four hours later, up in the garden, Bifur stirred from his sleep. He wasn’t sure exactly what had woken him until he heard a series of soft yipping sounds like a group of puppies followed by a splash. Frowning slightly, he blinked his eyes open. A moment later his frown deepened as he looked in confusion at the thing above him. It took him several minutes to determine that it was a blanket lashed to poles and blocking the sunlight. He tilted his head to see a couple other dwarves sleeping around him in the shade as well. When he tried to move he discovered that he was gently pinned in place and, upon looking down at his self, learned that he was apparently an acceptable napping location for several tiny hobbitlings.

Bifur smiled, closing his eyes and snuggling back down to try to get some more sleep. His efforts were wasted though and soon Bifur was carefully extracting his body from the slumbering pile and quickly making his way toward the facilities.

A while later Bifur was in the garden once more. The top was wide open; the head of the turtle raised high at one end and the water gentle rolling from the other. All around the patch of green he could see nothing but blue. The source of the yipping turned out to be hobbits. Each seemed to have some reason to give the gentle, barking yip of a puppy or fox before diving into the water. Bifur couldn’t fathom the reason for this no matter how hard he tried to puzzle it out.

Eventually a group of hobbits came from below, pulling up a large, shallow, rimmed, steel oval bowl with them as well as a strange stone hoop, a stack of square wooden boards, a metal grate, a small leather bag, and a clear glass jug half filled with a light blue colored goo that seemed to slog around with the movements of the hobbit carrying it. This was something else Bifur couldn’t seem to decide upon and he lamented being unable to speak Westron.

Then he remembered… Hobbits knew Iglishmêk!

Smiling, Bifur moved to watch the hobbits, hopefully without getting in their way. When one turned a smile to him, he raised his hands and gestured to the items before he asked, _‘What are you doing?’_

The hobbit beamed at the question, delighted that the dwarf knew their hand language… Though the gossip about the dwarves knowing it had already spread around, seeing it was a lot different than hearing about it. He answered the same way. _‘The hunters have gone fishing, so we are setting up the grill to cook what they bring back.’_

Bifur nodded, watching as the two hobbits actually setting up the grill fit the wooden posts onto pegs carved into the bottom of the hoop before they turned it so that it was like a table with a large hole in the middle. The shallow metal bowl fit neatly into the hole and the grate was placed on top of it. Bifur was delighted, having only seen large grills already put together and not one that could be carried around and put together so easily before.

 _‘There is no coal.’_ He commented.

 _‘No.’_ The hobbit agreed. _‘We don’t have easy access to coal. Ulmo taught us how to mix things into another type of fuel.’_ The hobbit took a moment to point at the jug of goo before pointing at himself and saying, “Rufus.” He waited for Bifur to introduce himself then continued. _‘When the hunters start to return, we’ll pour some into the bowl then spark it for a fire. We’ll spend the next few days cooking and drying the catches before we hit the Current since we don’t usually stop once we’re in it until we get where we’re going.’_

_‘Do they only hunt in the water, or do they hunt on land as well?’_

Rufus considered before answering. _‘Mostly in the water. There are some wild pigs on the islands, we brought some goats over about a hundred years ago, and there are birds, but most of our meat comes from the water.’_

While Rufus and Bifur spoke other hobbits had brought up more grills, greeting the dwarf politely as they worked. It was obvious that this pre-Current cooking was a big production for them. A few offered both Rufus and him various bits of fruit that they handed around to all the cooks and the hobbitlings that were awake as well. Bifur could see the sense in this. Cooking while hungry was a miserable business.

Bifur paused, looking surprised, before holding up the pale golden ring of dried fruit he had just bitten into. _‘I like this one!’_

Rufus grinned. _‘Dried pine fruit, my friend. Dried pine fruit.’_

Still later found Gandalf sitting on the raised wall of the garden that would have been a rail in a boat of men but served as a rim that the opened top halves of the shell roof were attached to on a hobbit turtle ship. He was seated next to Thorin and Dori, the smell of cooking seafood tempting their taste buds as they stayed out of the way of the busy hobbits. Not long earlier a hobbit lass had brought them all mugs of frothy beer to go with the grilled treats that would appear in front of them from time to time.

“Is it always like this on one of these ships, Mister Gandalf?”

“Always like what, Mister Dori?” Gandalf puffed on his pipe, watching the hobbits with a fond smile similar to that of a grandparent.

“Food being handed to you at every turn and spending all day cooking…” Dori didn’t sound as if this were a bad thing.

“Generally just the time spent before heading into the great currents, if I recall correctly. Hobbits like to stuff themselves sick before going in. That way they spend the first few days in the current barely wanting to touch any of the food they’ve stored and their supply lasts longer. So they party before the current, sleep most of the time in it as they hardly have to do anything but make sure they stay in the current, and then race toward home once they’re out… Where they have a welcome home party.” Gandalf snagged a thin wooden stick loaded with grilled fish, pine fruit, and sliced peppers from a tray carried by a passing teen. “Hobbits do love their parties.”

“So it would seem.” Thorin glowered, despite having a half full mug of beer in one hand and an empty bowl in the other. His gaze was on the heads of young hobbits ranging from perhaps five years old to twenty that were bobbing up and down in the water not far from the back end of the ship.

“Whatever is the matter, Thorin?” Gandalf wondered.

“The Captain… I figured he would have been up and about by now and not lazing about while others worked.”

Gandalf laughed. “Bilbo has been gone for hours, Thorin. He left with the main hunting party while you were still asleep.”

Thorin frowned. “He can’t be. I haven’t seen a sign of anyone but the children coming up for air.”

“Hmm, indeed. I can see where that would be confusing.” Gandalf intentionally waited for Thorin to take a drink before continuing. “If it weren’t for the fact that hobbits can breath water as easily as air and can swim far faster than the Hobbiton is moving right now.”

Getting beer splattered on him from a startled Dori whom Gandalf had not noticed also taking a drink was almost worth it to catch Thorin in a classic spit take moment, Gandalf later decided.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be the last 'The Sea' part. I'll give a brief summary of the rest of the trip before moving on to Shireland in the next chapter. I make no guarantees though, some character may decide to run away with something, but that's my plan as of right now. :D
> 
> Every hobbit mentioned by name is an actual hobbit listed in the various family trees Tolkien outlined. I'm pretty sure I even got the relations correct. As for Jago's longwinded speech... Hobbits love their genealogies. It's canon. What can I really say other than that?


	10. The Sea - part 4

Thorin did not know how long he stared out at the ocean, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He wanted to yell, feeling that he had been betrayed somehow, but he knew he didn’t really have any grounds for a good yelling. Captain Baggins was not one of his people. The hobbit had signed no contract. The hobbit was helping out of the pure kindness of his heart. So really Thorin didn’t have any reason to feel betrayed, to feel slighted at not being told Bilbo was leaving, at not being told hobbits had gifts from more than one of the Valar.

But the truth did not stop Thorin from wanting to yell. He wished he had a place to swing his axe at something or someone. But there was nothing on the ship that he could safely swing away his anger at and the few dwarfs that had the skill and strength to keep up with his mood were in the water at the other end of the ship… Playing with hobbitlings.

Thorin’s scowl deepened because the worst thing was that he didn’t have a valid reason to order them not to play either. There was absolutely nothing for them to do on this ship except eat and play. They couldn’t even smoke unless the top was opened; the hobbits claimed that smoking ate the air too fast when the ship was closed.

The leader of the Company had a bad feeling he was going to strangle someone before their quest was over.

“They most likely won’t be back tonight.”

Tensing slightly at the unexpected voice, Thorin turned to glance at Nori. “And how do you know this?”

Nori snorted. “I asked, oh mighty king.” The Company intelligence gatherer plopped himself down on a patch of soft moss that grew on the part of the garden that Thorin had temporarily claimed. “Apparently the main group of hunters goes far and wide the first night to try for big fish. Then they’ll stick closer just helping the tweens fish near the ship until time to dive into the current.”

Thorin made a small sound of acknowledgment. “They are foolish to trust strangers so blindly.”

Giving Thorin a shrewd look, Nori calmly rose. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? I find it rather refreshing to be among people that will answer anyone who takes the time to ask.”

There was something too calm beneath Nori’s words, something that rubbed Thorin the wrong way. It reminded him of when his mother would give him a look after an important dinner party before Erebor’s fall, a look reserved for when he had been particularly spoiled and disappointed her with overly childish behavior. He didn’t like it and turned to voice his ire on the matter only to find that Nori was gone.

Had the sea cared for Thorin’s mood, it would have cringed away from the black look the dwarf now turned on the gentle ebb and swell of the water.

\---  
Later…

The primary Line of Durin was cursed. The most obvious curse was that which was publicly known: that gold called to their hearts and minds and drove out all else that should matter. It probably said something about their race in general that it was felt that going insane over gold was acceptable to be a publicly known curse. Because of this well-known curse the only daughter of the line, Dís, plotted with her brothers for the good of the people.

Her brothers would bear no children. As a princess of the main line her children would be just as eligible for the throne. It was testament to her strength of will, her bearing, and her authority that the people believed her when she told them that her children, royal children of the blood, would not be Sons of Durin and thus would not be subject to the weakness of that line. When she finally did have children and they were old enough to be seen in public they did not hold the same regard for jewels that other young dwarfs did. They prized their family, food, and fun more than any other dwarfling that had been seen.

Thorin, the only one that remained alive and knew of Dís’s plan, was also the only one that knew the anguish Dis had gone through to turn out the beautiful souls her boys had become. He was the only one that bore witness to what traditional dwarven parents would call child abuse. ‘Abuse’ that was given out of love. So while Thorin held out no hope of his own to succeed in turning away from gold, he knew that his sister’s sons would be stronger than any other kings of Durin’s Line.

But…

A pair of familiar wild screeches sounded from behind Thorin and he instinctively reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even have to look to know that his nephews were blazing the length of the garden. He didn’t have to look to know that they were leaping into the water. And worst of all, Thorin didn’t have to look to know that both of their hairy arses were bared to the world as they joined the hobbits in play.

Thorin’s little sister Dís was a genius of parenting by dwarf standards. But sometimes Thorin wished she hadn’t pressed the joys of play so firmly into the minds of two malleable dwarflings.

\---  
Later still…

The hobbitlings and most of the dwarfs were asleep. It was nearly dawn of their second day at sea. The dwarf group of Nori, Fíli, Bofur, and Óin were below taking their turn at practice with propelling the ship. That was what it started out as, but at the moment no one was really working. The hobbits didn’t want to press too fast, since there were still tweens going in and out of the water waiting for the hunting party that would still need to catch up. So in time honored tradition, the group was instead swapping drinking songs with the hobbits and learning different card games that were unique to their races. That there was actual alcohol on hand helped. Basically they were wasting time.

“They’ve been gone a long time, though.” Bofur was fretting, unable to keep the worry out of his tone. “We haven’t been still either. I know we’re not in the same place we were when they left.”

Fosco snorted as he dealt out a new hand. “They’re fine. Only a big storm could get them lost.”

Nori rather obviously snuck a peek at Bofur’s cards, the miner so distracted that he didn’t notice.

Dora Baggins, Fosco’s eldest, poked curiously at Óin’s cloak while wearing his gloves. She wiggled her fingers before looking at the dwarf. “How do you not melt? These things are hot!”

Óin had leaned closer to hear her better and then snorted. “I think yer a bit too young to be melting from my heat, lass!”

Everyone else burst out laughing as Dora went red and covered her face with her glove-covered hands.

A sudden thump from near the ladder drew their attention and they looked to see a soaked tween bouncing.

“They’re almost back!” The tween sang before scrambling back up the ladder.

Cheers heralded the mixed group of hobbits and dwarfs scrambling up, clearing away the evidence of their goofing off, and heading up the ladder. It didn’t take long until the whole group was in the garden and heading toward the edge where the occasional hobbit could be seen jumping out of and falling back into the water in the distance as the hunting party neared. The commotion the group made woke up the dwarves that had been sleeping in the garden and soon there was a lively, if slightly grumpy on the edges, group waiting for the hunters.

“How much longer?” Kíli asked, leaning over the edge to get a better look.

Kíli’s question was answered by a large shape coming out of the water right underneath he was looking… A large shape with a massive mouth filled with teeth like razors!

Kíli fell back, screaming!

Dwarves gave alarmed shouts and reached for their weapons!

And the hobbits rushed forward with gleeful exclamations as one stabbed a hook through the gaping mouth before the beast could fall back into the water. All around the creature hobbit heads popped up out of the water.

“Other side!” Bilbo’s voice called.

The hobbits moved swiftly at the call and soon another beast, this one with horn almost three times the size of a hobbit on its head appeared and soon the hunting party was clambering out of the water while the tweens that had been playing helped secure their catch until the cleaning and cooking crew could get to work. The hunters, having been swimming most of the last day and night, slumped where they were once they were in the garden.

“That’s a lucky catch there, Captain. We don’t normally see these this far south.” Fosco gave a tug on the large horn of the second creature.

“Yes.” Bilbo agreed. “It was hurt, the shark was after it. We caught them both off guard.”

“Well good.” Fosco decided, giving a nod. “When your group wakes up, you can go after some tasties on the bottom instead of looking for another big catch!”

Several groans sounded as the tired hunting party tossed random bits of dirt or leaves from the garden in Fosco’s direction.

Fosco gleefully ignored them, bossing the tweens around as they got ready to start their day.

\---

It had been hours since the hunters returned and they were still sprawled around the garden sleeping. They slept through breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, and it seemed as if they’d sleep right through afternoon tea as well. The other hobbits ignored them, since for the most part they were out of the way of those up top that were cooking or drying what the hunters had brought back. The few that were in the way had been unceremoniously rolled out of the way or, in a few cases, carried by family members down to their homes in the middle level. They continued to sleep through all the jostling.

Fíli, second in line for the throne of Erebor, was curiously poking at one Bilbo Baggins, current Captain of The Hobbiton. Fíli supposed he shouldn’t be poking at the sleeping hobbit, but it was kind of fun to see just how far he could push the hobbit before letting him flop back in place.

The dwarf had just been curious about the long horn on the one sea creature, it did look kind of like a sword after all. He had asked about it and was told that most hobbits would use them to make knife handles or carve them into mathoms. He never could get an exact description of what a mathom was though, something about pretty dust. The hobbit he had asked about it, Dora, had told him that Bilbo had some carved to hold his hunting braids in place. And that was why Fíli was poking the hobbit.

Originally Fíli had just wandered over to inspect the hobbit’s braids and take a peek at the carved bits of horn. A look around at the other sleeping hobbits showed him that all of them that wore their hair long had braided it into many thin ropes. Knowing how his own hair was a mess of tangles after swimming made it easy for him to understand why they would do so before hunting if they hunted while swimming. He made a noise and leaned over to peek at the carved bits of white horn in the Captain’s hair.

Scattered in Bilbo’s braids were a collection of white beads. Most of them were carved in the shapes of various leaves. A couple of the beads were carved to look like tiny fish. Fíli thought they were rather quaint and, somehow, during his inspection he had taken to poking the hobbit. He was aware enough to admit it had probably started when he noticed that Bilbo hadn’t woken when Fíli started shifting his braids around to see the various beads and naturally that made the prince want to see if poking would wake him up… Fíli decided he should probably stop before someone noticed he was just randomly poking the Captain…

He stopped.

Naturally that was when Bilbo shifted in his sleep, but thankfully for the prince the hobbit just shifted and turned his head and then he saw it! A flash of green in the otherwise mess of blond hair and white beads that Fíli first thought was a bit of a leaf. But then it sparkled and he thought it was an emerald. Since he was a dwarf it was natural to be curious about a potential emerald to some degree, so Fíli rather boldly slid his fingers into the mess of braids until he pulled out the one with the sparkly green bead. It was not an emerald; it was something else that he did not recognize. Fíli pursed his lips and leaned closer to try to determine what it was.

The green bead was mostly round in shape with the blonde hair of the hobbit threaded through the middle. It had been carved all around with twisting lines to which delicate leaves were affixed, so Fíli figured it was some type of vine depicted. Then he twisted the bead around and noticed some type of rune etched into the surface that was probably in the old language that the hobbits spoke when they forgot to use Westron. Just as he was about to turn and ask one of the hobbits about it, a voice spoke up rather loudly.

“Fíli! What are you over there molesting the Captain for?”

Fili froze at Bofur’s amused voice as two damning realizations washed over him. One: the hobbit hunting party had been very, very naked the whole time they were gone and still hadn't gotten dressed yet since getting back. And worse… Two: Bilbo’s eyes had opened and the Captain was very, very awake when Bofur decided to yell!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -None- of this was planned! *whines and headdesks*
> 
> This little cutie was the inspiration for hobbit hunting braids:
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://cdn.glamcheck.com/fashion/files/2013/06/Beach-Hairstyle-Ideas-for-Little-Girls-Multiple-braids.jpg)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> (She might even -be- a hobbit for all I know!)


	11. Shireland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with this chapter, but fussing over it wasn't making it better so here ya go.

Bombur had never regretted signing up for the quest more than he did at this particular moment. He was sprawled out on the main beach of Shireland, unmoving, silently thanking Mahal that he had survived that ride… And when his older brother cheerfully reminded him that the rest of the quest was going to be by ship, Bombur managed a convoluted twist that had one of his heavy, booted feet swinging up to kick Bofur’s ass and knock him face first into the wet sand.

Bofur just laughed… The jackass.

It didn’t take long for Bombur, and all the other dwarfs, to notice something that surprised them about the island… It was hot! Most races thought the dwarf tendency to wear leather and furs or quilted attire was out of a need to have armor-like accoutrements. The truth was that they tended toward being cold all the time, a design from Mahal to allow them to be comfortable in the constant heat of their forges and safely handle hot materials that to their cool skin felt comfortable. But here…

Bombur rolled over, pushing himself into a seated position and struggled to shed his outer layers. The air was thick and he was almost panting to get enough air into his lungs. How the hobbits could thrive in this environment was unknown to the dwarf, but it was obvious that they did for a veritable horde had come to greet the arrival of the ship.

Taking several deep breaths of the thick feeling air, Bombur soon caught a faint scent. It smelled like pork and like a hound he started to track the scent. It remained faint, but eventually he found the place where it was strongest… a patch of empty sand on the beach. Well, not entirely empty. There was a stick with a bouquet of bright flowers tied to it in the spot. Feeling cheated after spending what felt like the entire trip camped out in The Hobbiton’s facilities being ill and finally being presented with steady land and a delicious smell, Bombur finally looked around.

There were a lot of hobbits.

Bombur wasn’t sure how many there were in total, but there were at least a couple hundred helping to unpack The Hobbiton and roll barrels of various items out of the ship, over the dock, and then up the beach. Those that weren’t helping were greeting friends and family that lived on The Hobbiton after what was, no doubt, a long time away from the island.

And there was entirely too much skin in evidence!

Perhaps it was because he was a dwarf and they were used to wearing layers upon layers when not directly in front of a scorching forge, but he couldn’t help but blush at how scarce clothing was among the hobbits. He had thought that spending over a week aboard the ship would have prepared him, but it was nothing to seeing this. Most of the hobbits wore absolutely nothing except flowers in their hair. Some wore colorful cloths wrapped around their plump little bodies - mostly the older hobbits. A group of younger hobbits, tweens and teens by appearances, wore skirts out of what looked like long, swishy grass… And flowers.

Suddenly a young hobbit was standing in front of Bombur. It seemed to be a lass, judging on the shape not covered by her grass skirt. She smiled at him, said something in the old language the hobbits used, draped a flower chain around his neck, kissed his cheek, and then scampered off back to her friends who were giving similar treatments to the other dwarfs.

Bombur stared after her.

He didn’t get to stare long before a glint of blinding white out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. Turning, Bombur was treated to the traumatizing sight of his brother stripping off all his clothes.

“Bofur!”

The scandalized exclamation drew the attention of the other dwarfs first to Bombur and then to where Bofur was standing in naught but his skin and braids.

“What?” Bofur sounded absolutely baffled as he dropped his hat to land on his pile of clothes. “I’m tryin’ ta fit in with the locals!”

 

\---

 

It turned out Bofur seemed to have the right idea as most of the dwarfs ended up stripping down to their unders or, in the cases of Ori, Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin, and Bofur himself… Nothing.

The pork smell Bombur had tracked earlier turned out to be one of several earth ovens that the hobbits were roasting boars in. He had almost wept with joy when seeing the hobbits carting the roasted meat to the area where they had communal meals and he had hovered as they pulled the meat apart, asking questions about how they prepared a lot of the dishes he discovered they had. While there, Bombur learned that while some would eat in their family homes there was a community meal going on every night, it just depended on who felt like eating where.

And the hobbit community was bigger than they had thought. Spread out over the entire Shireland Island there were several thousand hobbits on land at any given time with several hundred more in one or another of the ships and out to sea. Their community was not on the beach like the dwarfs had pictured, but far from it, back in the trees and fields the large island offered. They learned that some hobbit families lived in what they called a ‘Traditional Smial,’ a dwelling that turned out to be underground, dug into the earth and reinforced with wood into quaint little homes. Others, mostly of families that called themselves Took or Brandybuck, lived in elaborate houses built into the treetops!

Thankfully Bilbo offered the dwarves the use of his Shireland home, one of the traditional smials. His, which he called Bag Start, was built beneath a large tree and reinforced by the tree’s roots in a way which allowed for larger and more comfortable rooms than some of the other traditional smials. The dwarves were thankful for a place that was slightly cooler and more secure feeling for being underground and made certain Bilbo was thanked.

After the feast that night, the dwarves that had dared to go ‘native’ learned that the sun wasn’t as merciful to their pale white backsides as it was to the browned bums of the hobbits…

The next day the dwarfs did some exploring, finding the various fresh water rivers, lakes, and waterfalls that the hobbits frequented. They washed their clothes, took baths to get the salt off their skin and cool off, and eventually tracked down Bilbo to assist him and a group of hobbits in loading some things onto The Bag End.

The day after that was much the same, only Gandalf appeared from wherever he had vanished when they docked. He insisted on going over the map again.

“We’ll have to stop at various places along the way.” Bilbo pointed out. “The water barrels will need to be refilled. Someone will have to hunt from time to time since I won’t be able to gather enough for all of us from the ocean along the way. And the plants will need sun.” He looked up at Gandalf. “Since you want to the trip to be as secret as possible we’ll have to go underwater in the deeps of the rivers… Will there be room for The Bag End to fit under Osgiliath and Esgaroth?”

Gandalf chewed on the end of his pipe for a moment before answering. “From what I can remember Osgiliath was designed to allow larger ships to go up and down the river. We’ll have no trouble there. There might be a tight squeeze at Esgaroth, but I’m confident we’ll fit.”

Bilbo considered. “We’ll need to wait at least two days before diving into the tunnel. I’m not sure how long it will take us to navigate it, so we’ll need to be well stocked before we go under the Rauros Falls.”

“I will have to leave you at the falls.” Gandalf said, blithely ignoring the dismayed outcries of the dwarves. “One of my order tracked me down just before I met up with the Company. There is something I need to look into. I will be rejoining your group outside of Erebor.”

“We will not wait if you are late for Durin’s Day, Gandalf.” Thorin was definitely irritated at this unexpected change of plans.

“You would be wise to do so, Thorin.” Despite saying this, Gandalf knew if he were delayed that Thorin would not wait.

“We’re unfamiliar with these areas marked for stopping on the map.” Thorin spoke to Bilbo now. “Have any of your people scouted these areas?” He pointed to the ones on the map most easily accessed by sea.

Bilbo shook his head. “No. When we were driven from the Shire and went to the sea we pretty much left the mainland to the peoples there. It wasn’t until my grandfather’s time that we returned. The Shireland islands are all the real mainland experience we’ve had for generations… In fact, I’ve been tasked with taking notes and drawings of what I see for our records.” He paused for a moment before adding more softly. “Perhaps one day a group of adventurous youngsters will wish to try building a home on the mainland once more.”

Looks of understanding went from the older dwarves to the hobbit before they adjourned their meeting and went to various other activities.

\---

The next day was Drogo’s birthday.

The nightly feasts thrown by the hobbits had nothing on the extravagant affair that was a Party, the dwarves learned. Instead of one long buffet table there were dozens of tables laden with dishes and any time a dish went empty there was miraculously a new one in place moments later. There were several types of alcohol to choose from: beer, wine, whiskey, cider, some strange brew that tasted like one of the exotic fruits but knocked Glóin on his backside from the strength of it…

Drogo was passing out presents to everyone, even the dwarves. That hadn’t been expected and led to a discussion on the difference in present giving on birthdays.

“This way I only have to remember my own birthday.” Drogo said cheerfully as he gave the dwarves hastily made but lovely presents from pearl pendants to handles carved from the horn of the sea beast they had caught, just waiting for the dwarves to put their own blades since Drogo already knew they wouldn’t really appreciate inferior hobbit metalwork such as it was…

Bofur gave Drogo a carved horse in return as he said, “Sounds like a mighty fine idea that. If only it wouldn’t mean I’d be giving away presents only to turn around and be shunned for not bringing a present on the actual day…”

Several of the other dwarfs gave Drogo some presents as well and things went splendidly.

When it got dark Gandalf set off some fireworks he had spent the last few days making while hobbits played music and taught the dwarves some of their songs and dances. Then something truly astounding to the dwarves happened once it seemed like things were winding down…

A group of hobbits off to one side gave what could only be called battle cries before there was suddenly a rush of rhythmic drumming accompanied by energetic activity and twirling sticks that had one end on fire were spun around… What followed was an intricate battle dance as a group of hobbits twirled and swirled first with just one end of their staffs on fire and then both ends were alight. It wasn’t until a seemingly dangerous move brought the fire to their faces that the dwarfs could see that both Bilbo and Drogo were two of the fire dancers… And then they were blowing fire almost like a dragon to the approving cheers of their audiences. A few minutes later they finished their dance and the group mobbed poor Drogo with cheers.

Later Bilbo explained it was one of their traditional dances that honored Ulmo. Since he was the Lord of Water, they did not fear the element opposing it and so played with it in Ulmo’s honor. Since it was Drogo’s coming of age party, it had been the younger hobbit’s first time joining that particular dance.

The next day they mostly slept off the hangovers caused by the potent hobbit brew.

The day after that… They boarded The Bag End and said goodbye to the Shireland Islands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to He Mele No Lilo from the movie Lilo & Stitch while writing this chapter. And watching the video of the Fireknife of Samoa 2013 video.
> 
> He Mele No Lilo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtsV4bWPHsY
> 
> Fire Knife Vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dwrunGB6wIw


End file.
